Institutionalization

Shutter Island is a film about a man at war with himself. The mental hospital in which the story takes place is said to have been constructed during the Civil War, and the freakishly enigmatic "Ward C" (where the really crazy ones are kept) was a fort in that war. Ben Kingsley as Dr. Cawley even remarks on the state of psychiatric study: a polarized philosophic mess of old and new ideologies. Internal conflict. So, it's the usual for a psychological thriller, except this time, it's Scorsese-fied.

Scorsese and DiCaprio have made a super-charged genre picture. Because of this, some will find the film cliche and too close to the mark. They wouldn't be wrong, but they'd be missing the point. Nitpicking the plot of any film is a tremendous waste of time. A film's aesthetics are far more important than its literature, and that above all else seems to be the focus of Shutter Island. Sure, you could list off references to past thrillers (I even flashbacked to Skull Island, of all things, during the opening scene), most notably those of the master himself. Both Scorsese and DiCaprio have cited Vertigo as a major influence, and indeed, the tale of a haunted man warped by his memories of a (blonde) woman isn't simply similar. But also remember Hitchcock's mantras of cinema: not as "a slice of life, but a piece of cake," and "technique over content."

And oh, such technique, such style. Scorsese has long been acknowledged as a wizard of of the camera, but I find his utilization and mastery of modern film making techniques downright astounding, especially his humblingly efficient use of computer generated special effects. Can you imagine The Aviator without the glossy galvanization of the crash sequence, or the ridiculous realization of the H-4's liftoff? I can't. Shutter Island is not without equally impossible visual wonders. The psyche is home to many elaborate and surreal dream sequences (or hallucinations... who knows!), including the converged perceptions of misrememberings, and the confetti-like, atmospheric, ashy remains of a fire victim, not really affected by gravity, but listless and tormenting.

Also, maybe it was just me, but I found this film to be a joyous playground of motifs. The final shot is a quiet pan over the island's craggy, New England cliffside, settling on the lone image of a lighthouse, a symbol of guidance. This is also the place where the facility performs lobotomies. Chilling! Especially when considered alongside the title itself: the light of memories hidden, even erased, by the quick and easiness of a shutter.

A Post by Seth

Opening credits are by nature pretty silly; we're going to see those same names at the end, right? Their existence basically amounts to studio self-congratulations (like the Oscars, only shorter), however if done right they can perfectly set up the mood, tone, or even story of the film. A great example are the titles for Hitchcock's North by Northwest: Bernard Herrmann's rousing theme music and Saul Bass's eye-catching graphic design set the stage for the adventure to come. The unusually green background of the MGM logo and the converging lines, crossed into a grid that then fades into the windows of a metropolitan office building, perfectly instill the themes of subversion and misidentity. It looks good, it sounds good, and it communicates worthwhile information to the audience. Not a single second of screen-time is wasted.

On the other, less masterful hand, are modern opening sequences. Sure we've got real works of the art, such as those found in Spider-Man 2 (brilliantly synopsising the previous film in comic book panels, the frames formed by the irregular quadrilaterals of spider webs), but more often than not we get ego-stroking aesthetic ejaculations void of any significance, and thus can only exist to exercise and flaunt the director's "skill." Take all three of Jason Reitman's films, for instance. Thank You For Smoking's titles are admittedly pretty effective (modeled after tobacco packaging), but in the end are simply gratuitous. There is no reason whatsoever for these credits to be so elaborate. Wouldn't the money to design and animate them have been better spent on, you know, the movie itself? Reitman's other two films, Juno and Up in the Air, are even worse. Musically-edited and masturbatorial, they serve no purpose to the film and communicate nothing to the audience. I suppose you could argue that as much, if not more, time and money was spent on Spider-Man 2's credits, but again, they actually have a purpose: synopsis. There is nothing so noble or at least logical going on in the credits of Thank You For Smoking. My only guess at the logic behind their creation is that they were supposed to "look cool." So the films' first impressions upon the audience are attempted coolness? That's the equivalent of Joe Camel smoking. Thank you, indeed.

Nothing on a movie screen can be taken for granted. The smallest, most nonsensical thing is subject to interpretation by viewers, and if its presence is meaningless then they will see right through it. Even something as seemingly inconsequential as credits sequences can be instrumental tools of expression. I'll end this rant with what are probably the best opening titles of any film, those of Raging Bull. Hopefully my explanation of their genius is not needed.